12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“ I see they put you up somewhere nice too, sweet girl,” Cyril murmured as she unlatched Attie’s stall door and slid it open. The sweet mare nickered with excitement and tossed her mane from side to side.

At least someone was happy to see her.

The royal stables were quite a spectacle, and Cyril wasn't sure why she expected anything less. They must have been able to house hundreds of horses in the imposing sandstone and wood building Rika walked her down to, just a few minutes along a side path from the palace proper.

The maid had finally lost her patience, watching Cyril mope about her room over the last day. The third time she came by and said, “Miss, are you sure there is nothing you’d like to see?” Cyril caved in.

The stables seemed like the most reasonable place to go, and she knew the chances of running into anyone she didn’t want to deal with were slim.

Dion, Mikael, and a contingent of guards left at the crack of dawn to head into Brynnhold, the port city a couple hours’ ride away. They would join the rest of her uncles there for the more hands-on portion of their briefing, and likely wouldn’t be back until well after nightfall.

Naturally, they didn't invite Cyril, but she thought it was the best, for once. Nothing productive would come from being in close quarters with Dion so soon.

The stablemaster, Boone, was a friendly and weathered man that Rika introduced Cyril to before making her departure.

Boone was not entirely fae, if Cyril had to guess, with dark eyes and a warm smile. He was all too happy to set her up with a brush and a couple of apples before he pointed her down an aisle of stalls.

Attie eagerly watched those apples as Cyril tucked them between the bars on the stall’s window.

“ Later ,” Cyril chided, smoothing her hand down the horse’s side. “You need a good brushing, then we can have a snack. Alright?”

Attie snorted.

The slow and quiet work that came with grooming horses was unmatched, for Cyril at least, in the way it washed away tension. You couldn’t be angry or loud and animated around the horses without unsettling them—they were smart animals and wanted nothing to do with pissed-off handlers.

She didn’t blame them for that.

Cyril started in slow, sweeping strokes with the brush, following each with a pass of her hand. She knew Attie always enjoyed the grooming, with the way she’d nuzzle and nudge at her as she went, but there was a chance Cyril enjoyed it more.

She murmured to Attie as she brushed her, asking pointless little questions about how she liked her stall and if the stable hands had been treating her well. It wasn’t like Cyril expected answers, but Attie’s little grunts and snorts brought her some amusement. Especially the petulant neigh she let out when Cyril asked if she'd been stuck with Kingston as a neighbor.

The unwieldy gelding rubbed everyone the wrong way.

A smile crept over Cyril’s face with each pass of the brush, and that heavy, icy feeling lingering in her veins from the day before eased, if only a bit.

She wasn’t sure if the weight of those cruel words would ever fade entirely, truth be told, not with how easily Dion tore into her with them. He was getting more volatile and unpredictable, and Cyril didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

Even in the months before this stupid contract came about, their relationship had begun to feel more strained than ever. It wasn’t just with her, either. It was like his fuse had shortened with everyone at the estate. Everyone else just had the option of getting away from him.

But for Cyril, she had no way out or away.

As Dion’s nights got later and the smell of smoke lingered longer with him, his iron grip on Cyril squeezed just a bit tighter. Not enough to suffocate her, but enough to make it hard to breathe.

So she fought back.

Cyril challenged and provoked her uncle every damned time he decided where she would or wouldn’t go, who she could or couldn’t see. No one or where was trustworthy enough for her, he would say, outside of their estate and the people he had handpicked to live there. It was like he wanted to keep her tucked away from the world, all to himself, yet he couldn’t seem to tolerate ever actually being around her anymore.

And maybe she deserved it.

Cyril had ruined his life, after all.

The lord with a reputation for his parties and proclivities forced into fatherhood. It was a life Cyril knew he never wanted, never asked for, so logic dictated it was only a matter of time before he lost his patience with having her around.

Cyril let out a shaky sigh and Attie nudged her arm.

“ Shit , your apples. I’m sorry, girl.”

She offered the horse a weary smile, as if it meant anything to her, and pried an apple from between the bars. With the single knife she’d strapped to her thigh today, she quartered it and gave the pieces to Attie.

“We’re sharing this one,” Cyril said, as she gave the second apple a hasty wipe on her pants and halved it. Attie didn’t seem to mind and happily took the core when Cyril finished her half.

It pained her to admit it, but the apples in Reykr might have been better than the ones in Helia. Gods, Sebille would have been furious with her for even entertaining that notion. She was of half a mind to go see if Boone or one of the stable hands wouldn’t mind giving her another to split with Attie, but her equine companion was suddenly off-put.

Attention fixated down the aisle of stalls, Attie snorted and stomped her hooves on the ground.

Cyrill took a step back out of the stall only to see Runa.

Fuck.

All ethereal grace and sweeping robes, she spotted Cyril from halfway down the stables and smiled. Apparently, a single day alone was too much to ask for.

“I’m glad you found your way here,” Runa said when she cleared the last few stalls between them. Still, she kept a healthy distance from Cyril.

“I needed some air.”

Runa only nodded and watched as Cyril moved back into Attie’s stall and started brushing her again. Something to occupy her hands and her mind.

“We missed you at dinner last night,” the queen finally said, “and at breakfast and lunch today too.”

“I’ve been eating in my room.” Cyril was sure she was insulting no few customs, talking to the queen with her back half-turned to her.

“I figured as much.” She heard the soft shuffle of Runa’s robes as she took a few steps closer. “I…I owe you an apology, Cyril.”

So they were going there, then.

If there were ever a time for Cyril to ascend without warning and find out she could phase, now would be a great fucking time.

“Last night, Dion… enlightened me as to how painful of a topic it is for you, and I…” Runa sighed. “I never would have broached it had I known. I made a hasty assumption, and I am sorry for that.”

Cyril glanced back over her shoulder, just for a moment. The queen’s brows were low, and her eyes spoke to a tiredness that she understood well. Runa looked…defeated. She almost wondered if Dion had enlightened them both in the same way yesterday.

“It’s alright,” Cyril mumbled, turning back to Attie. What fell out of her mouth next came as a whisper. “We don’t talk about her, ever.”

Cyril heard the soft shuffle of robes again, and Runa’s hand settled between her shoulders. Her touch was warm and steadying, a little sickening too.

“Maybe you should,” she supplied quietly. “If Dion isn’t receptive to that sort of thing, I’d be happy—”

Cyril shook her head.

That was not a bridge she even wanted to think of crossing.

Runa eased back from her and silence swelled around them again for a painfully long moment before the queen finally broke it.

“Dion owes you an apology too, doesn’t he?”

Cyril turned, and whatever sort of unease settled into her face, Runa understood it in a heartbeat.

“Mikael told me what happened yesterday in the hall. He said Dion was…rough with you.” There was wariness in the silvery depths of Runa’s eyes. Like she didn’t want to accept that her friend had that sort of streak of cruelty in him. But she had to know. “And I realize what happens between you two isn’t necessarily my business, but…Cyril, if you ever feel unsafe here, will you please let someone know?”

The implication in Runa’s words hung heavy.

A reality Cyril was sure neither of them wanted to accept was a possibility.

That Dion would cross that line someday…

Cyril only nodded. She did not trust her voice.

That heavy implication grew into discomforting silence.

Her hands felt unsteady as she brushed Attie again, but the sweet black mare nuzzled and nudged her insistently. She even drew a short huff of a laugh out of Cyril when she wedged her muzzle so aggressively under her arm that she stumbled a step back.

No more brushing, then.

“Is there somewhere I can take Attie to ride?”

If Runa took any offense to Cyril’s decision to not pursue any bit of their previous conversation further, it didn’t show.

“There is a lovely trail just out here, to the south.” The queen gestured out the sliding doors nearest them. Cyril noticed as the sleeve of her robe slipped down her arm that those ornamental tattoos decorating her hands extended up Runa’s forearms as well. “It’ll take you to a beautiful glen in the woods and back in a couple of hours.”

Cyril offered her a smile. “Thank you.”

Runa turned to leave, but stopped a few steps away.

“You are welcome to join Lars and I for dinner tonight. Everyone else is away or occupied, so it would just be us three.” She gave Cyril a small, tentative smile. “Only if you feel up to it, though. Don’t feel obligated.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Runa nodded and left Cyril to saddle up Attie.